


looking for maple syrup

by scylette



Category: Room of Swords (Webcomic)
Genre: F/F, I am so sorry, but it exist now so.....yay???, i have no idea what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 15:35:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18391289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scylette/pseuds/scylette
Summary: man i dont know i wrote this in 2 hours for month of ros please have mercy





	looking for maple syrup

If there was ever anything that could describe her, it would be an city, the little lights glimmering when the sun falls. Streets and pavement set in stone, each day going by in a jumble of ordered chaos. Her structures stand tall in the curve of her back, the windows clean and pristine as her smooth skin. Her night sky tumbles down her back in waves, neatly washing over the city as it always does, always will. 

The order in her voice, the beginnings of a sober melody, commanding and guiding the lost to their place. A picture of unparalleled stature, stable and confident and befitting of the queen.

But the surface layer of primrose perfection could not compare to the soft stone of her person, of the flowers blooming within the cracks. The garden it would grow into, she knew not. Only was the determination to improve her skill evidence enough of her budding strength. The slight of hand when pushed to her limits in battle, the mischief and intellect sparking behind her eyes as she finds a moment to continue just a few moments more. 

That stubbornness that had taken root long ago. In her words, her thoughts, her posture when no one was looking. At the core of her outside benevolence lies an ambition that branches into her dulled blade, the buds of something brilliant being nurtured with every slash, with every new skill applied through trial and error. Yet time goes on.

And the flowers do grow, and grow into something beautiful indeed, as the honeysuckle and gardenia aura flashes with every crooked smile. Her unrestrained laughter carrying a boisterous melody, steady and free. A simple dance in the corridors here, a soft string of words whispered here. Hands intertwine, rose colored cheeks flare with vibrancy, the overgrowth wild and uncontrollable.

Yet time goes on. And it wilts, and crumbles, and there is nothing to stop the overgrowth from leaving her shuddering in a gasp, bedridden and dreary. The garden decays, and so does the light melody that she held so dear.

And so Victoria would continue to belt her silent aubade, in hopes her song will rejuvenate the queen's garden by the time the last petal falls and the sun rises across the city to that new, dreaded day.

 

**Author's Note:**

> man i dont know i wrote this in 2 hours for month of ros please have mercy


End file.
